My Brothers are Better than Yours
by warrior of camp half-blood
Summary: This is a series of reader inserts where the reader is the younger sister of Dean and the older sister of Sam. Contains family love and support: Winchester style.
1. Playground Fight

**I am new at writing Supernatural fan fictions and I apologize for not getting any of the characters' personalities correct. These will be a series of reader inserts about having Sam and Dean as siblings. I hope that you enjoy this. Please leave a review!**

It is recess and I am playing jump rope. A bill for lunch today falls out of my pocket. As I reach down to collect it another hand greedily scoops it up. A boy a year older than I and nearly twice as round as me triumphantly holds it.

"Can I have that back," I ask politely. He holds it out of reach. "Finders keepers; I guess this is mine."

"No it isn't! It's mine! You stole it." I jump in an attempt to grab it back and he laughs. "This isn't funny," I yell.

"Of course it is," he snickers.

Sam notices the commotion from his position on the swings. He leaps off and hurries over. "What's going on here, (Y/N)?"

"He stole my lunch money and won't give it back," I point a menacing finger at the black-haired boy.

Sam turns to him. "Give it back." He may be a year younger than me but already he stands nearly as tall as Dean. This punk looks like an ant in Sam's shadow but still stands with his chest puffed out like he owns this playground. Maybe he does, the way other kids run the opposite direction when he looks at them; but the Winchesters have never been great at following the heard.

"Or what? You'll call your dad? I heard your mom died and he doesn't take care of his kids; just leaves them in hotel rooms and goes away for weeks." The boy holds a wicked glint in his eye.

"Don't you ever say that!" I snap in defense.

Sam's jaw clenches. "Give (Y/N) back her lunch money or else."

He smirks, challenges, "make me."

I shove him in the chest with all my strength. He steadies himself and pushes me to the ground where I land with a "oomph!"

In rage Sam pulls his arm back and connects with his chin. The boy stumbles back. Sam is on him again, shoving him to the ground. They wrestle, rolling in the wood chips. He manages to get on top of Sam and land a hit before their positions are reversed.

 _Nobody touches Sam Winchester's sister._

"Hey, break it up!" a voice calls out. Dean pushes his way through the thong of kids gathered and picks me up, then manages to pry Sam off the other kid. Sam is panting more from anger than exertion. "Dude, what got into you?"

Sam mutters a quick explanation under his breath. Dean turns to me in confirmation and I merely nod. His face hardens as he rounds on the boy with a busted lip and swollen eye. "Why don't you give my sister back her money," Dean demands. The boy glowers at the three of us, but fishes in his pocket and hands me a five dollar bill. I snatch it back.

Teachers suddenly arrive in a frenzy calling out orders nobody listens to. With one hand my eldest brother shoves the kid to the ground hard. He then wraps an arm around me and places a hand on Sammy's shoulder.

* * *

John walks into the principle's office to find his three children sitting silently. (Y/N) is swinging her feet above the floor, wood chips coating her backside. Sam sniffs and holds a bloody tissue to his nose. Dean looks down, wringing his hands together.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Winchester," the principle rounds the desk. "As you can see, your children got into a bit of a fight today during recess," she nods to the three sullen kids. "Unfortunately, fighting is against the school policy. I am afraid your children are going to be asked to permanently leave this school," she says.

John nods in understanding. "Then can I get a copy of their transcripts?"

"Of course. Come this way and we will get everything sorted out."

After Dad sets all of the paperwork in order we leave. Everyone is silent as we walk out of the building. John stares straight ahead, face unreadable. "Tell me what happened," he says. A jumble of words fight for attention.

"That boy stole my money-"

"-was only defending them, Sir-"

"You should have heard what he said about you-"

John holds up a hand and I close my lips. His next words cause me to look up in surprise. "Good for you boys for standing up for your sister like that." This is not what any of us were expecting.

"Sir?" Dean stammers.

"I mean it. Sure, you should have done it better and don't you ever get yourselves expelled again, but way to stick up for your family," he elaborates. "In this life that's about the only thing going for us," he quietly says. The three of us share a small smile and crawl into the backseat of the Impala. Man, do I love my family.


	2. The Pimple

"(Y/N), hurry up in there! We're going to be late on the first day of school!" Sam calls through the bathroom door.

"I can't!" I answer back.

"Why not?" my brother's voice is laced with slight concern.

I hear the motel bedroom door open and Dean's deeper voice. "Is she still not out yet?" Then, "is everything alright in there, (Y/N)?"

"No," I answer back miserably. I stare into the mirror with loathing. Why me? Why does this have to happen to me now? My brothers are still trying to coax me out. I know this isn't fair to them, especially not to Sam, who has been more excited than usual for this school year. Perhaps because he will be starting junior high this year.

Cracking the door open a smudge, I peek out. "I...I don't think I'll go to school today," I squeak.

Dean cracks the door open further and takes hold of my arm. "What is wrong?" His eyes trail over my frame, checking to see that everything is intact. His eyes settle on mine in puzzlement.

Tears swelling in my (E/C) eyes, I wail, "I have a pimple on my forehead!" Both boys' eyes immediately go to my brow. The horrible, ugly thing is the size of Madagascar. My bangs can't hide it, it hurts way to much to attempt to pop, and I absolutely cannot begin my seventh grade year looking like this!

"That's it? A zit? Here, I have some cream you can put on it," Dean sighs and rummages through his duffle. "And then cover it with this," he hands me another jar. Taking them I lock the door again.

Five minutes later I step out once more. They look up at me. "Can you see it?" I ask timidly.

"No, you look fine," Sam answers.

"Thanks for the concealer, Dean," I smile weakly at my older brother.

He wraps an arm around my shoulders as the three of us head into the brisk morning. "Sure thing, kiddo."

Sam stares at him with head slightly tilted."Dean, you wear makeup?"

"No, I do not."

"But then why do you have concealer?"

"Shut up, Sammy."


	3. Swimsuit shopping

School had ended last week, which was a relief. I had been getting easily distracted during finals. It is a miracle that Dean even passed his exams. With Sammy there had never been any doubt of how well he would do. He would stay up late into the night studying his notes for the next day. I would join him until my stomach growled, or natures calling persisted, then I would go off and do something else. Dean read over his few pages of notes once and then took the Impala and a blonde life guard to a drive-in movie.

We had stayed in this small city longer than usual and I had even managed to make a few friends. Dad left us in the cheap motel and came back every so often to rest, do laundry, and then hiked it off to some other hunt. Dean hated being left behind but Dad told him that he was not going to miss his junior year exams. So Sam and I were left behind with a grouchy Dean. Not that we minded spending time with our older brother; and he did lighten up after the second day.

Anyways, it is the first week of summer vacation and one of my friends has invited me to a pool party at her house. "You can bring your hottie brothers, too" the message reads.

"Guys," I pull their attention away from the television. "Monica invited us to her house to go swimming."

"Cool. I'm in," Dean turns back around. Sam nods his consent.

I continue to stand beside the bed. After another several minutes Dean glances back at me. "What is it, (Y/N)?"

I purse my lips. "I need a new swimsuit."

"Why? Didn't you get one a few years ago?"

"Yeah, when I was twelve. I'm fourteen now. I need one a little bit bigger."

"Haven't you stopped growing?" My patience for my brother is wearing thin.

"Up here, Dean. I need one that is bigger up here," I gesture to my chest. He looks at me with understanding dawning in his eyes.

"Oh. Sammy, I guess we're taking (Y/N) bathing suit shopping."

* * *

"How about this one?" Sam holds up a cute orange bikini top with frills.

Dean snatches it from my eager fingers. "No way! You don't need to be showing all of that. Now this one would be alright," he holds up a lemon yellow one-piece that looks tailor-made for a grandma.

"I am not going to be caught dead in that." With a roll of the eyes I continue skimming the rack. My eyes land on a pair of swim shorts with the American flag. I find a simple red top and hurry to the changing stalls, my brothers tagging along. Not often do I get to shop like a girl and I am going to use this opportunity to feel like one. Once it is on I twist in front of the mirror, inspecting it from every angle. I have never had a two piece before but see that it compliments my slight frame.

"(Y/N), let me see it," Dean calls through the changing room door. I crack the door open a bit so they can see. The shorts are adorable and fit just right. The top is modest, reaching down over my stomach but with a low cut back. After having me spin in a circle he shakes his head. "No, not that one."

"Well I like it. And Dad would be fine with it," I counter, closing the door.

"How do you know what Dad would approve of?" Dean asks. I pull on my shirt and step out, swimsuit in hand and make my way to the checkout.

"Because I am a responsible teenager and deserve to have some freedom once in a while."

"I think it looks good," Sam pipes up.

His gaze traveling from the clothing in my arms to my pleading face to Sam's puppy dog eyes, Dean finally sighs in defeat. "Fine. But if you flirt with any boys or get any ideas wearing-or not wearing-that little scrap of clothing, we are going straight back to the motel," he growls.

"Deal." As he pays I turn to Sam and smile. "Thanks for standing up for me."

"Anytime," he grins.


	4. Bad Hair Day

**Hello there! Hope your day is going splendid! If anyone has any ideas for other stories I would love to hear them! Reviews and helpful feedback are greatly appreciated.**

I have debated all day, going back and forth between who would be more qualified for the task. Sam is deliberate, taking details into account. Dean has a steady hand. I would much rather have a professional cut my hair, but at the moment the three of us are running low on money.

"Sam," I call, walking into the library. He looks up from the book open on the table. "Will you cut my hair?"

"Um, sure," he answers hesitantly. I lead the way to the tiled kitchen and sit on the prepared chair. He takes the scissors and lifts some hair, testing it. "How much do you want cut off?"

"About six inches." He nods and proceeds to snip away at it. His brow furrows in concentration, tongue peaking out the corner of his mouth. Locks litter the ground around the seat in a semicircle.

"Why did you want me to do this? Why not Dean?" he asks after a while.

"Because I figured you would do it a bit better," I answer. I love both my brothers dearly, of course, but Dean has been so busy lately he would likely cut it lopsided. The only sound is the blades closing around the strands of hair. I am beginning to wonder how much longer until Sam is done when the smallest intake of breath is heard. It is so soft it almost never reaches my ear. Then there is a stillness behind me.

"Sam, is something wrong?" I ask, a seed of panic beginning to sprout in my chest.

He says nothing for a minute. "(Y/N), I didn't...I don't... it can be fixed-"

I whip around to face him. "What did you do?" His mouth flaps without any noise. Jumping up I race to the bathroom.

At the reflection in the mirror I freeze in horror. My bangs are cropped above the eyebrows, the back of my hair varied in length. "Samuel Winchester! I am going to kill you!" I scream.

Dean pokes his head out of his room as I come flying down the hall. "(Y/N), what-" the words die on his lips as he takes me in, eyes widening. I give him a glare that causes him to retreat back into his room. My attention reverts back to the other boy.

Sam holds the scissors before him in defense. "You asked for six inches off, so I tried to do six inches."

"Yeah, but not off the bangs! You don't know anything about women's hair!" I advance on him screaming.

"Look, I'll take you to the barber-er salon-tomorrow," he cowers.

"Sam, you are never cutting my hair again! Next time Dean is doing it!"


	5. Breakup

I walk into the motel room with tears streaming down my face. Both boys immediately stop what they are doing. In a second I am in Dean's arms. "Hey, now, its alright. What's wrong?" He cradles like a five-year old even though I am fifteen. I don't say anything about it, though.

"He cheated on me," I choke. I see Sam's face contort into fury and assume Dean's has done the same, though I cannot see.

"I'll be right back." I catch Sam as he makes for the door. Dean moves to stand up but I hold him down.

"No, not right now," I plead. They share a hesitant look but sit on either side of me. Sam pulls a blanket around me and rests his head on my shoulder.

"Shouldn't he know better than to hurt our little sister?" Dean teases.

I sniffle. "I'm older than Sammy." They both laugh and the sound makes me smile a bit. We stay that way for a while, even after I have calmed down. It is my first breakup and it hurts more than I expected. Even all the romance movies I watch when the boys aren't around didn't prepare me for this.

When our stomachs begin to growl Dean goes to pick up pizza from down the street. He is gone longer than it should take and I begin to wonder what has him held up when the door opens and he steps in balancing two large boxes. We settle down in front of the old TV. I have a brother on either side, a slice of cheese pizza in my hand, and a movie on. At least for the moment everything is going to be alright.

Later that evening I step out of the bathroom from trying to drown myself in the shower. One person is absent.

"Where's Sam?"

"He stepped outside to get some fresh air," Dean casually dismisses. Sam doesn't come back for nearly fifteen minutes.

The next day at school I see my ex in the hall. He avoids eye contact with me-actually, he avoids eye contact with everyone, opting instead to watch his feet. A purple bruise rings his left eye and he sports a busted, swollen lip.

Sam is walking beside me and I glance up into his face. He portrays nothing but the slightest crinkle at the corner of his mouth. His right hand swinging between us has a faint bruise running along the knuckles. Dean catches my eye in the hall and throws me a lopsided grin and a wink before stepping into his next class.

That night while I am in bed my brothers are in the bathroom, the door slightly cracked. I watch the strip of light disappear and reappear as they move about. "That was a nice one you gave him, Sammy," Dean's voice sounds quietly.

"Thanks, I almost knocked a tooth out," he sounds almost proud of himself. "That ringer wasn't bad yourself." They move into the main room, Sam wiggling under the covers beside me while Dean flips on the television set at a low volume.

"Thanks, you guys," I say. They both know what I mean.

"Anytime, (Y/N)."

"You know I could have hit him, too," I murmur sleepily. But sometimes its nice to have brothers who are willing to save me from doing it.


	6. The Prank

I wake and stretch, glancing at the two beds where my brothers are both still asleep. They are so peaceful. My eyes settle on Sam's large frame. "Hope you slept well in bed. The couch was just great, thanks." My slight irritation triggers a small revenge plan. It has been a while since I last pulled a prank on him. Dean is in the clear for now; a few weeks ago I did something that he is not going to easily forgive me for anytime soon. But my dear little brother Sammy...

Before either wake up, I search his duffle and find what I am searching for. Retrieving the Super Glue from my own bag (one can never be too prepared for anything), I carefully place a trail of it around the rim of his deodorant and snap the lid on over it.

Once they get up and both grab a shower we head to a small diner we saw on our way into this small town last night. I slide into the booth beside Sam. A few minutes later I sniff loud enough so he can hear. He glances at me and subtly moves a bit further away. I look around then lower my nose to my armpit just for show. Dean teases, "Did you forget to take a shower?"

"No, something stinks over here. Do you smell it, Sam?"

His head snaps up, eyes wide. "What, no, I don't smell anything."

"Well its not me," I shrug, "maybe its from whomever sat here last."

Sam's ears turn red and he stays on the far end of the booth while we eat. As we are heading to the door he goes out of his way to walk beside tables where no one is sitting. When a waiter walks past carrying plates he slips away, leaving a large distance between the two of them.

Dean becomes impatient and calls, "hurry up, Sammy, we haven't got all day for your games."

Sam finally reaches us and motions for us to go out first. He climbs into the back seat of the Impala, giving me shotgun. On the way back to the motel I turn the heater on. It grows very warm rapidly and soon all of us are stripping layers off.

"Can you turn that thing off, (Y/N)," Dean growls, rolling his window down. I notice Sam has left all of his clothes on, including his jacket, which must be swealtering. When he finally does remove his jacket a wave of BO wafts to the front. Dean gags and hangs his head out the window. "Sammy, what is that smell?"

Sam's face is tomato red. "I...I..."

I cannot help it anymore and burst out laughing. Both boys look at me. "Sam didn't put any deodorant on this morning," I gasp.

His mouth is agape. "How did you know... That is not funny, (Y/N)," he growls when the realization hits him.

"It is hilarious," I counter. Dean glances between the two of us confused. "I glued the top of his deodorant on," I explain between fits of laughter. Dean grins, too, and looks at Sam in the backseat.

"She got you good, man."

"Seriously, guys, we're adults. I thought we were over pranking each other," Sam grumbles.

"Nope, never," Dean and I say at the same time.


	7. Can we get a pet?

**Today we got two more fish to keep our one remaining fish company. I don't know about anyone else, but I do not like the smell in pet shops. I hope that you enjoy this! Please R and R and thank you for the reviews!**

"So," I begin, flopping across the bed before Dean. He glances up from the comic book. "I think we need a pet."

"Y/N, we are constantly on the road and any animal we got would just die," he responds bluntly.

"Way to sugarcoat it, Sunshine," I pout, "but seriously, I want to get an animal."

My elder brother rolls his eyes and returns to the book. "Take it up with Dad."

Dad is out interviewing witnesses right now. He won't be back for another few hours. I perk up and race to propose my idea to Sam, who of course loves it. For the next couple hours we anxiously await the return of our father. When the engine of the Impala can be heard pulling to a stop we both race outside.

"Daddy, can we get a pet? Please, we'll take care of it and feed it and it won't die. Dean says it will but we won't let it," we nearly shout. He is a bit taken aback by our greeting.

"Say it again, one at a time please."

Sam speaks up first. "Sir, can we please get a pet? Y/N and I promise to take care of it. You won't have to worry at all about it."

"Please, Daddy," I add. Sam turns on his puppy dog eyes and I my _daddy's little princess_ look. He rubs a hand over his face and heads to the room.

"No animals; forget about it, kids."

But we do not forget about it. For the next two weeks Sam and I are leaving hints. We draw pictures and place them in his duffle bag, on the driver seat of the Impala; we casually dance around the topic during meals; we watch Animal Planet while he is in the room. His defenses remain unwavering and our efforts seem fruitless.

One day John loads us three kids into the black car he loves nearly more than us (sometimes I think he does). He ignores all questions of where we are going. We stop in the parking lot of a strip mall and walk to the door reading _Baca Brothers' Pets_.

My face turns up. John nods at my radiant smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. "We can get something small that the three of you agree on," he clarifies.

There are so many creatures of all colors here it will be impossible to agree. Dean doesn't like snakes, Sam wants a lizard, I like the birds but am vetoed because they will be "too noisy and wake everyone up in the middle of the night"; Dean is allergic to cats; dogs are too much work.

When we reach the wall with blue aquariums our faces are pressed against the glass. "Look at that one," Dean points to an angelfish. Sam motions us over to the beta fish. I am mesmerized by the tetras of multiple colors that look as though they should glow in the dark.

Over an hour after we went in we come out carrying a bag of tetras and an angelfish, a portable fish tank loaded with rainbow gravel, plastic plants, filters, and fish food.

"Thank you," we chirp.

"You're welcome. Now will you stop pestering me about getting a pet?" John closes the trunk.

Sam and I nod in unison.

"Hey, Dad," Dean speaks up. "Can we go to that ice cream parlor?" Dad groans and drags a hand through his hair. "Or not," Dean says quickly, shrinking into a corner.


	8. Washing Dishes

**This is an update to this chapter, if you have or have not read it before.**

John dropped us off at Uncle Bobby's last week. He said he was going on a business trip. I think he was lying, though. I fully believe my dad is a ninja who goes around the world fighting criminals.

"If you want dinner come and get it!" Bobby calls. I leap up from my coloring book on the floor and race into the kitchen. As he sets our plates of macaroni and cheese with carrots on the table I crawl into a chair. Dean walks in closely followed by Sammy. He tries lifting our little brother into the chair stacked with phone books but he shouts, "No!" He tries but fails to get more than one of his chubby feet off the ground.

"Here, Sammy, like this," I say and slide down so I can show him. He mimics my actions and with a little help from Dean is able to successfully sit atop the mound of books. Sam does not want to eat his carrots. "If you eat enough carrots they'll turn your skin orange. Wouldn't that be cool?" Dean asks. Dean always knows how to handle situations, even Sammy's stubbornness; that is why he is the oldest.

He turns to Bobby with wide eyes. "Really, Uncle Bobby?"

"Sure."

"Cool!" and Sam stabs one of the steamed carrots on his plate eagerly.

I like it when we eat dinner at Bobby's house: he puts extra cheese on stuff and gives us popsicles for dessert. Once we are finished eating he clears the table. When he starts washing dishes Dean climbs onto a stool and helps to dry. I then stack them under the specific cupboard each dish goes under. Sammy watches us while happily eating his popsicle.

"See, Sammy, when you're older you can help, too," I say. He nods and licks at the blue dripping down his hand.

* * *

As soon as the last person is finished eating Dean jumps up and begins clearing the table.

"No, I want to do the dishes!" I shriek, "Uncle Bobby, tell Sam that it's my turn to wash dishes!" at my brother an accusing finger pointing. He continues washing dishes, humming and ignoring my protests. Bobby sighs and puts the leftovers in the fridge.

"Next time you can do them. I promise." Sam grins up at him with one tooth missing.

"Can I help Uncle Bobby?" He ruffles Sam's hair with a smile and agrees. Maybe there is something wrong with us because as far as I know my brothers and I are the only kids in school who enjoy washing dishes. Maybe it is because we don't ever get to do them besides at Bobby's house, doing simple chores is invigorating.

* * *

After dinner the next day, I hop from the table and dragging a stool to the sink, turn the hot water on and tip the soap upside down, dribbling a stream of bubbles out. Sam stands beside me on another stool and with a towel begins drying the dishes. There is a reason we use plastic plates at Bobby's house, for within thirty seconds the first is dropped. Sam crawls off the stool, scoops the plate out of a sudsy puddle on the floor and resumes drying. After assisting in clearing the table, Dean comes to the sink. He is tall enough not to need a stool.

"No, Dean! It's my night for dishes!" I scream. Bobby winces behind us.

"WIll you two quit your whining and get along," he growls. "Why don't the three of you work together?" he suggests. I don't like the idea, wary of Dean pulling the "I'm the oldest" card and claiming his right to where I am right now. But instead, he turns to Sammy and helps him dry, his hands over the chubby fingers of our little brother.

Bobby shakes his head fondly from the doorway at the children standing on footstools. "Igits." I glance over my shoulder and throw him a toothy grin, accidentally sloshing water over the counter where it runs down to the floor. Bobby reaches for the mop kept handy for when we visit. I suppose this can be considered a normal event.


	9. A Party gone Wrong

**Thank you to RoseCentury for notifying me to the error when I updated this chapter. If anyone has suggestions for other story ideas please let me know: I am running low myself. Hope you enjoy!**

"How do I look?" Sam glances up from the book on the table. "Is it okay?" I ask nervously when he does not respond. Should I have worn something else instead of a white skirt, black top and denim jacket?

"No, you look fantastic," he shakes his head, "Do you have your knife because you'll need it to get rid of the boys." I laugh and show him where it is tucked away in a strap on my inner leg. I never go anywhere without it.

"The black tights with triangles printed on them itch and I reach down to scratch as Dean comes in. "Ready to go?" he asks, car keys in hand. We walk into the fading light. Bobby is working in his shop on a car and calls out to have a good time and be back before midnight.

My friend, Sasha, invited me to this party. She is my best friend-not that I have a surplus amount. I only see her when we stay at Bobby's place; right now Sam and I are enrolled in the public high school in Sioux Falls while Dad is working a case in Washington state.

When Dean pulls up I get out of the car and tug on the skirt. "Let me know if you want me to come back for you earlier," Dean calls through the window. "If not, then I'll be here at eleven thirty and if you're not waiting I'll leave you to walk back."

"Sure you will," I roll my eyes. If there is something I can always count on it is Dean never leaving me behind. I turn and wave, watching the Impala's taillights drive off.

"Who was that hottie that dropped you off? You should have invited him in." I turn to see Sasha. She looks so much better than I do in her skinny jeans and crop top.

"That was my brother, Dean."

"Oh, that's him? I couldn't tell who it was because his face was blinding me," she teases.

"Shut up," I grumble. Something I will never get used to is girls telling me how attractive my brothers are. I don't want to know that. We enter the house pounding with music. I forget my insecurities about being the quiet, awkward girl at school and follow Sasha's lead. I actually am enjoying myself. For a while I lose sight of my friend. When she pops up next to me a while later she looks different. Maybe it is the way she is slightly swaying or that her muscles are a bit more relaxed. She holds out a cup to me.

"Here, have some," she offers.

"No thank you," I decline.

"Come on, its really good," she persists.

"I don't want any."

Somebody else comes up and pushes a cup into my hand. "Everyone needs to try this." I sniff it. Alcohol. I hand the cup back. "Have you never had a drink before?" he slurs slightly.

"Of course I have." I am not a stranger to alcohol; I just don't like the taste. Dean says that when my taste buds mature I will enjoy it.

"Just have a little sip; you'll really like it."

"I do not want any," I repeat, turning to him. I don't even know who this person is.

Sasha whispers in my ear, "This is Sean's house. I don't want to be kicked out so have a little sip."

The whole room is staring at me. I don't want to let Sasha down. What kind of friend would I be? So I tip my head back and down the contents. People cheer.  
Not to long after that I start to see things a bit differently. The lights are strange and I swear I am hearing colors. What was that stuff? I'll have to ask Dean when I get home. I giggle at the thought that I have had an adult drink that Dean or Dad haven't tried yet. I do not remember much after that, just snippets here and there. I think I was dancing on the table at one point. When I wake up it is with a pounding headache in the bathtub. Crawling over the side I make it to the toilet in time to throw up. What happened? How long was I out for? How did I get in here?

I fumble with my phone. Dialing the number I know by heart I hold it to my ear. After three rings there is a click. "Y/N, are you ready for me to come get you?" Dean asks, "Y/N, are you crying? What's the matter?"

"Dean, just hurry." My hand is shaking so violently I barely hear him yelling something at Sam and then him back on the line saying he's getting in the car.  
"I'm on the way, just hold on a few minutes, sweetheart," he says before ending the call. The phone slips from my fingers and I bury my face in my hands. I allow myself five minutes before I wipe my face, check myself in the mirror and open the door. I weave through bodies looking for Sasha but she is nowhere to be found. Then I stand outside waiting for my brothers. The night air helps to alert me a little but I am still largely out of it.

Soon-but not soon enough-the Impala pulls up to the curb. Sam and Dean jump out and head in my direction. "What happened?" As Dean gently lifts my chin with concern in his eyes I break down. They slide to the ground and hold me. Between sobs I tell them what happened. Sam coaxes me to calm down. Dean stiffens and looks toward the door. "Come on," he pulls me to my feet and almost drags me into the house behind him. "Which one is Sean?" he asks. I scan the faces and point to the one talking loudly, liquid sloshing from his cup.

Dean leaves me in Sam's care. He marches up to and slams his fist into Sean's face. The force of the blow sends Sean reeling into a wall. Dean grips him by the collar and lands another hit. Hands weakly try to defend against the attacks. "Dean," I mutter. That one word stops him. His puts his face close until the two of them are nearly nose-to-nose. "If you ever do something like that again I will kill you." Leaving the host with that he takes me by the elbow with gentleness opposing the violence his hands just committed. Silence follows us out to the street.

Dean takes driver seat while Sam crawls in back, his arms protecting me and I am thankful for that. In this car and in Sam's arms nothing can get to me. Monday at school I will have to deal with the people from the party. I will have to talk to Sasha. I doubt I will be receiving another invitation to any party in the future. But right now I want to forget it all and go to sleep.

"I'm sorry, I..." I am not even sure what to say.

"Shush, it doesn't matter," Sam strokes my hair.

"We'll deal with what you did later," Dean says firmly then meets my eyes and his voice softens. "Right now I just want you to be okay."

"Okay," I whisper.


	10. Operation Snack Time

**I know it has been a while since my last update, but I hope this can be payment. I also updated "Washing Dishes" if anyone is interested and think it is much better now.**

"Snuffleupagus, this is Big Bird. We are in position. I repeat, we are in position," Kevin Tran's voice whispers through the radio in my hand.

"Copy that Big Bird. I'm going in." I slink around the corner into the kitchen, wary of any oncoming feet. To the fridge, click the handle softly, nimbly retrieve the subject, close the fridge, retreat into the hallway. "The diamond is secure," I whisper to the walkie talkie. "Coming back to Sesame Street now."

"Roger that." I dance through the doorway, huge grin present and close the door. Kevin is sitting on the floor of the closet, plates and forks ready. I set the pie dish between us and he cuts two large slices. Blueberry pie never tasted so delicious. We had found some military tactic-type gear that looks like it was from the Vietnam War era; I discard my helmet for the time being.

"You know what this needs," I say after a few mouthfuls, "is ice cream."

"Do you think it's safe to go out there?" I shrug.

"When was anything worthwhile easy?"

"If Dean finds out we stole his pie, we are dead."

I grin maliciously and tease, "I know. Being bad is great, isn't it?" Kevin returns the face. So we agree to do one more co-op. The mission: retrieve the ice cream. Only, when I reach the freezer, we are out of vanilla. So I extract the next best thing. Kevin is standing guard and as I approach him, his eyes suddenly widen and he gestures frantically for me to hide. I retreat into the library and flatten myself behind a bookcase. Not a moment to soon, for footsteps enter immediately after. I can't tell who it is, not having a clear view, but I think it's Sam. Great. He will probably spend all afternoon in here staring at books. Taking a deep breath I calm my tensed muscles and relay to Kevin via radio, "the enemy is in sight. Do not employ rescue mission."

"You can do it, Snuffleupagus," he whispers back, probably from right around the corner. It takes deliberate care and precision, but I am able to worm my way out of the library undetected, prize still in hand. By the time we return to headquarters, it has melted enough to easily be scooped out.

"I cannot believe you took Sam's frozen yogurt," Kevin shakes his head in admiration. "Now they both will be after us."

"It was worth it, right?" I ask around a mouth of coconut frozen yogurt and blueberry pie. The pie tin is nearly empty save for a final sliver when Dean's voice passes us from outside.

"Sweetheart, how about you and I to spend some alone time." I know he is referencing his dessert. We listen intently and before long hear the refrigerator close. A silence. Then, "Where is my pie?" He is so serious Kevin and I giggle. We shush each other with hands over our mouths.

"I don't know, Dean. You probably ate it," Sam sounds annoyed.

"No, there was half a pie left." A moment later he adds, "your freaky health ice cream is missing, too."

"Let me see." I imagine Sam coming to check for himself. He will dig around for a minute, even look for Dean's pie, before straightening up and locking eyes with the elder Winchester.

"(Y/N), Kevin!" they call and begin searching the bunker. We hunker down silently, share a look.

I think they have given up the search and we are in the clear. Until the door pops open and my two dear brothers are glaring down at us. I smile with the plate proudly clasped in my hand.

"Snuffleupagus to Big Bird, we've been compromised. I repeat, Sesame Street has been breached."

"Shut up with the code names," Dean snatches the remaining pie to his chest protectively. Sam scoops up his yogurt and holds it out of reach. Not that we would pounce on him and steal it back. "You should be ashamed of yourselves," Dean lectures, "Stealing somebody's pie. I thought you were better than that." I don't know if he is speaking to Kevin or I, but we both nod, hang our heads in shame. With a scoff they close the door on us. We burst out laughing, trying to keep it relatively quiet. I lick my plate just for show.

"Sure, laugh all you want," Sam calls through the door. "And take off those ridiculous costumes."

When we calm down and let enough time pass so it is safe to emerge, we creep down the hall. Sam and Dean lounge in the library, each with his personal dessert in hand, watching a movie. Success.


	11. Wisdom Teeth

**Shout out to RoseCentury for the suggestion of this chapter.**

"Hi Dean." He sluggishly looks up, a dazed smile stretches the corners of his mouth as he sees the arrivals.

"I can't feel my face." He slurs around the cotton wadded into his numb mouth while pinching and poking his cheeks and lips.

"You had your wisdom teeth taken out, remember?" He contemplates this for a moment but gives no definitive answer. Instead, his gaze shifts to the camera trained on him.

"What's that?"

"You wanted us to record you after surgery." His eyes grow wide.

"I had surgery? Do I have cancer? Am I going to die?" His eyes begin to tear up.

"No, Dean, you don't have cancer. You had impacted wisdom teeth the doctor needed to remove," Sam speaks up from off-screen. Dean eyes his brother and motions the recorder closer.

The camera shifts as she leans forward to hear him whisper, "who's the hippy?" There's a snort of laughter, whereas Sam rolls his eyes and introduces himself. Dean's face brightens. "Hi, Sammy! I didn't recognize you. You have a lot of hair. Why is his hair so long? We need to cut it off." As he is settled into a wheelchair, Dean continues rambling about Sam's appearance. "Sammy, donate it to kids with cancer."

"No, Dean." Once again, his eyes begin to water.

"You're mean. You hate kids with cancer."

Sam looks indignant as he huffs, "Of course I don't hate them."

Dean crosses his arms, a few tears leaking from his eyes. He speaks particularly loudly, "Yes you do. You want them to die!" Sam tries to quiet Dean in an attempt to deflect the growing attention of people in the waiting room. But Dean will not be quieted. "Don't touch me. You're a child-killer." Sam starts pushing the wheelchair faster but Dean nearly screams. Sam gives the puppy-dog look to the camera. It changes hands, then the boys' sister is pushing Dean out the door. Dean points to the black Impala.

"That's an ugly car."

"I cannot believe you said that," she murmurs then turns to the camera. "He is going to hate himself when he watches this." All the while he continues insulting Baby, pointing out how "old-fashioned" it is, how black is so plain, how loud it is when he is settled in the backseat and Sam starts the engine.

"Idonwannalistentothis," he whines.

"What do you want to listen to?"

He throws his arms up and yells as loud as he can, "PUDDING!"

"That's not a song, Dean."

"But I want pudding. I'm hungry."

"We'll get you something to eat."

"Pudding?"

"Sure."

There is silence for a moment until, from the back, "I don't like this song."

"This is your favorite song."

"I don't like it. You never do what I want."

To avoid a tantrum, from behind the camera is asked, "what do you want to listen to?"

"'Shake it off shake it off.'" The station is changed and on the way to the bunker Dean is content to listen to and sing along to Taylor Swift, knowing a surprising number of words.

Upon arrival, the camera trains on Sam opening the door and helping his elder brother out. Dean hangs on his neck, Sam dragging him more than helping him walk. Dean pats Sam's head and smiles fondly. "You have nice hair."

"Urm, thanks," Sam makes a face. "So do you take back what you said about me hating cancer-kids?"

Dean's eyes widen innocently. "You hate them?" His bottom lip quivers.

"No! I love kids! I love all kids!" Sam hurries to mend it before Dean bawls. But the oldest sibling snickers.

"You love kids." He says it more like a question. Sam gives him a disgusted look before flopping him on the couch. Dean seems stunned at the sudden change and gazes about him, taking everything in, seemingly for the first time. He tilts his head excessively upward to see Sam.

"You're tall." Without warning, he begins crying. Large sniffles, tears mingling with snot and dripping off his chin. He makes no move to wipe his face. A wet spot progressively grows on his shirt. From behind the camera a hand reaches out with a tissue and dries him as well as possible.

"Dean, honey, what's the matter?"

"I wish I was tall!"

"You are tall. You're taller than me-"

"No I'm not! You're up there and I'm down here."

"-You're taller than Cas."

A sniffle. "Cas?"

"Yes. Castiel. You're best friend."

The wails begin again. "I miss Cas!" Sam is snorting and laughing so hard he is nearly as much a mess as Dean. The camera is shaking from poorly-suppressed fits of laughter. "Cas! Cas! CAS!"

A flutter of feathers and the favorite angel in Winchester history is present. "Yes, Dean?" He becomes slightly alarmed as he witnesses the scene. "Is everything alright?"

"Cas!" Dean rubs his hand under his nose sloppily and reaches his arms toward the angel, repeating the name like a mantra. Cas is uncertain whether to pick him up, give him a hug, or leave. He takes a step forward, gently pats the incapacitated man on the head. "They're mean," Dean throws a finger to his two siblings. "They're making me starve!"

Castiel frowns and Sam hurredly explains the context of Dean's behavior. The camera records a trip to the fridge to retrieve pudding cups. Dean grins goofily at seeing them. But he has a difficult time eating, considering the lack of feeling in the lower region of his face. If by some miracle the plastic spoon makes it into his mouth, a chocolate glob jumps out the corner of his lips and slides down his face, splatting on his jeans. But he doesn't seem to notice nor care. At least one of his wishes is coming true. Next on the agenda is to watch "Scooby Doo". But he demands Castiel sit and watch with him.

"What about us, Dean?" He casts a quick look at the remaining two and points a spoon dripping with saliva and pudding at the empty seats.

"It's okay. But you can't have any."

"Trust me, we don't want any," Sam holds a hand up in promise. Everything is calm until a ghost screeches on the screen. Dean whimpers and hides his face behind Cas.

"That's scary!" Despite only being able to record one of them, the other Winchesters roll their eyes.

"Imagine if he saw a cat jump out of a locker," Sam mutters.

"It would probably kill him." The grin is audible in her voice.

Dean refuses to emerge from his haven between the couch back and Castiel until the "scary ghost" is gone. But the Sesame Street muppets are too scary, too; the people in action movies are "too mean; why do they hurt each other-are they fighting kids with cancer?"; a commercial with puppies catches his attention-but it is an infomercial for animal shelters. Sam quickly turns the TV off. Dean looks at him with a face that almost mimics the dogs, excluding pudding and snot stains on his chin.

"Will those puppies die?"

"No. They just need to take a nap now. Like you."

"But I don't want to. I'm not even tired. See?" He widens his eyes as much as the lids can stretch and stares deeply into Sam's eyes. But he does not resist being laid down and covered with a blanket.

"Yeah...dude, that's creepy."

With a yawn, already half-asleep, he drawls, "I don't want the puppies to die. But the kitties can die."

* * *

Dean leans back in his seat, staring at the laptop. Sam is howling. I am weak in the limbs, barely staying in the chair. Castiel frowns, not understanding why this video is so funny. But it is. And it will go on permanent file, for laughs and for blackmail. Dean stands and makes his way to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To apologize to Baby."

"Hey, shortie, be careful. The bunker's a big place." Dean offers the worst look possible, his middle finger following him out of the room.

"If you get lost, follow the sound of Tay-Tay."

 **Hope you enjoyed! If you have any suggestions or prompts, please let me know!**


	12. Darts

"Really?" Sam whines as the Impala pulls into the dimly lit parking lot of a small bar.

"We deserve to celebrate. We saved an entire family," Dean leaves no room for discussion. Sam sighs and lugs himself to his full height, closing the door a bit more forcefully than necessary. "Besides," Dean looks over his shoulder, "your sister and I have a bet to finish."

"Dean, there is no way you can beat me at darts." He scoffs and holds the door open for his younger siblings. Always the gentleman. Along the far wall is a stage equipped for karaoke. "Fine. If I win, you sing whatever song I chose."

"And if I win, you buy me shots."

"Deal."

* * *

I can tell Sam is enjoying himself. As comfortable as one can be on a bar stool, he watches our game, beer in hand. Dean has an undeniably good arm, but his specialty is shooting. He can handle any type of gun from just about any position or angle. I have yet to see his hands shake while aiming a gun. But I have a knack for knife throwing. I many not be able to employ it as often, but when I do, the blade never misses its mark. Dean has a preconceived notion that he has to be the best at everything. There is nothing wrong with that, but he does not realize that there are people in the world who can do things better. Like me, his younger sister.

"Darts are different from knives," he reminds me while taking aim. It settles near the edge of the board; the next hits closer, then the third in the middle.

"Do you want this round to be warm up?" I ask sweetly. He rolls his eyes and yanks them out.

"Forget it. I'll still beat you."

I turn to Sam. "Should I completely blow him out or let him lose with some dignity?"

"Let him taste reality." Dean stands with arms crossed. Without an eyebrow twitch, I sink all the darts into the red center. And this continues. After the first throw, Dean improves, but he cannot match me. And he grudgingly submits when the scores are finalized.

"Dean, you're next!" I skip back to him after requesting my song of choice. He glares at me with enough gusto to kill an elephant. He ascends the stage and grips the microphone. When the music begins and he sees the fist lyrics, his face morphs between embarrassment, anger, shyness. I wait expectantly and when he does begin, it is quietly.

"Louder!" Sam calls. Dean shoots us a death glare but does oblige.

" _I know a place where the grass is really greener_

 _Warm, wet and wild_

 _There must be something in the water_

 _Sipping gin and juice_

 _Laying underneath the palm trees_

 _The boys break their necks_

 _Trying to creep a little sneak peak_

 _You could travel the world_

 _But nothing comes close to the golden shores_

 _Once you party with us_

 _You'll be falling in love_

 _Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh_

 _California girls, we're undeniable_

 _Daisy Dukes, bikinis on top_

 _Sun-kissed skin so hot, we'll melt your_ _Popsicle_

 _California girls, we're undeniable_

 _Fine, fresh, fierce, we got it on lock_

 _West Coast represent, now put your hands up_

 _Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!"_

I share a look with Sam. Dean had broken out into full song, looking like he was enjoying this almost more than he should. He threw an arm into the air and strutted onto the floor. Now he is dancing between tables and customers playing pool. He spins a few women around, offers them a wink.

" _Sex on the beach_

 _We don't mind sand in our stilettos_

 _We freak in my Jeep_

 _Snoop Doggy Dogg on the stereo, oh-oh_

 _You could travel the world_

 _But nothing comes close to the golden shores_

 _Once you party with us_

 _You'll be falling in love_

 _Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh_

 _Daisy Dukes, bikinis on top-"_

Dean runs a hand up his torso and runs it through his short-cropped hair, then fans himself in faux heat.

" _Sun-kissed skin so hot, we'll melt your_ _Popsicle_

 _Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh_

 _California girls, we're undeniable_

 _Fine, fresh, fierce, we got it on lock_

 _West Coast represent, now put your hands up_

 _Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!"_

* * *

"I never knew you had it in you," Sam laughs when he returns.

He always had it," I remind Sam. Dean isn't fazed; he seems proud of himself. "You know what, I'll buy you a shot anyways, just because that was such a good performance." This is unexpected yet pleasant news to him.

"Okay. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a beautiful woman over there who wants an encore." He tosses his head back, swallows the whiskey, then turns on his heel and stalks across the bar. His two siblings' voices and laughter follow him. For the next several days, all three of them have Katy Perry stuck in their heads.


End file.
